Broken Date
by Darth Tromeros
Summary: "I think we'll have to take a rain check on that date." The broken date and the consequences that come with it. Sorry with the lame description.
1. Peggy

Her finger circled the rim of the glass as she stared down into the liquid held inside. Her eyes looked fatigued and solemn, her facial features matching. Only a few days ago she had been looking alive and well; now, she looked as if she had nothing to live for.

The bartender looked up from the spot he was cleaning. "You okay, hun?" he asked.

She glanced up and looked down again. "Yeah," she murmured. "I let my stupidity get the best of me. Don't worry."

He stayed quiet for a few moments before saying, "How 'bout that victory over in Europe?"

"Mm." Her throat tightened.

"Too bad about Captain America, though. I really liked that guy."

Her head felt dizzy as tears welled up in her eyes. She felt like she was going to be sick. "Yeah," she choked out. "I liked him too." Her voice broke off.

"So, why are you here?" the bartender asked, changing the subject.

"Why are you so inquisitive?" she snapped.

"Whoa, sorry if I'm annoying you. We're a bit slow today and I can't stand to see a pretty woman like you so sad."

She shot him a menacing look but felt guilty for it. He didn't mean any harm. Sighing, she answered, "Broken date."

"Aw, that's too bad, sweetheart."

"Yeah, it really is," she whispered hoarsely.

The bartender took her glass and filled it up again. "On the house," he said.

She wanted to smile, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't. "Thanks," she said softly.

He nodded.

She finished her drink, paid for the first one, and left the bar. The night seemed cold and chilly as the wind blew around her. Music drifted softly down the street. She glimpsed over at a window where couples were dancing, smiling and laughing and having a good time. She stopped and watched them. They were spinning everywhere, chatting amongst them selves, whispering sentences drunk on love in each other's ears. Suddenly the music switched to a slow song, and all of them seemed to stop abruptly just to start a leisurely waltz.

Holding back a sob, she kept walking down the hotel she was staying in. She still wasn't sure why they were giving her this time off; they still needed her in the army. But she felt she really did need this time. She didn't know what she would do when she went back. Stupid girl, she scolded herself. You're a soldier! Not a moron from a romance.

She turned into lobby and headed up the stairs. It felt as if her legs were to give out from under her as she climbed up them. She wanted to collapse and not be bothered any longer.

I'm a soldier, she kept reminding herself. I don't have time for feelings.

Funny thing is, you had enough time for Steve, a little voice whispered in the back of her head.

Ignoring it, she opened her door and sat down on the bed. She slumped over, staring at the ground, everything around her silent. After some time, she glanced up into the mirror facing her. Her reflection gazed back at her sadly, desperation displayed on her face.

She stood up and went over to the mirror, her fingers resting on a file. Her hands trembled as she picked it up. Slowly, her fingers opened the cover up, as if something might jump out at her. Inside there was a picture of a scrawny man.

"Steve." Her voice quavered as she put the picture on the cupboard holding the mirror and thumbed through the pages. She set the file down, putting her face in her hands. As she sat down on the bed, she cried, softly at first before growing louder and louder.

"Why Steve? Why?" She brushed her hair out of her face, tears plopping onto her skirt. She looked back up towards the picture of him. Still trembling, she got up, wiping tears off her face and picked up the picture. "I promised you I'd teach you how to dance," she whispered. "And I won't break that promise."

She took the picture and started waltzing around the room. "Sorry there's no music," she said softly. "I don't think you would've cared, anyways."

Her feet slowly moved front and back, left and right. Her eyes stayed locked on the picture. After a few minutes, she came to a stop. "Steve," she said in a voice barely loud enough to be heard. "I think I love you."

She cried again.


	2. Steve

The question had been bouncing in his head since he had awoken, but he had always been too afraid to ask. He had other things to do, anyways. He couldn't focus just on the past; there were a lot of things to learn.

But as he lay on his bed, the question took seize of him and wouldn't let go.

_What happened to Peggy?_

He thought over all he could do. She had records. He could just ask to see them. For some reason, it made him scared. Out of everything he faced, asking about Peggy mad him the most nervous. He couldn't explain why felt that way; he just did. He assumed it was the answer he dreaded most. Knowing what really _did _happen to her—why, the results could go crazy.

But he had to know or he would go crazy.

Sitting up, he grabbed his jacket lying on the floor and pulled on a shirt. He headed down the stairs after slipping some shoes on. As he headed out the apartment, he looked down at the watch he never bothered to take off. 2:30 AM. He wasn't sure how he would explain why he was there so early. Maybe SHIELD would understand. After all, promising a date and then not knowing about anything for 70 years really makes one wonder.

He sat down on his motorcycle and headed down the street. The wind blew against his face, making his eyes water. He felt free, though, and he wished the question would blow away in the wind. He didn't want to know, but at the same time he did. It was an internal conflict, making it hard for him to decide what to do.

He came to the SHIELD base. Parking his motorcycle, he went to the entrance, trying to figure out if anyone was there. Surely there was. He knocked on the door, not sure if he could just enter or not. After standing there for about a minute, he tried opening the door. It came ajar. He slipped in and saw a secretary who let everybody inside the base. "Hello," he said, his attempted cheeriness failing.

She smiled at him. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Do—do you happen to have any files?"

"About what?" she asked, still smiling.

"About… previous military officials."

"Of course we do!" She stood up. "What do you need to know?"

"I want to know what happened too… uh… Agent Carter." His voice broke off.

Her smile faded a little. "We wondered when you would want to know." She looked down and fidgeted her legs a little.

His heart sped up a little, anxiety slowly filling him. "What happened to her?"

The secretary glanced up. "Oh, honey." She said. His heart seemed to drop in his chest. "She's—she's dead."

He tried to say something, but no words came out. His throat tightened, making it hard for him to breathe. He looked around the base, as if searching for something that would prove otherwise, but he knew what the secretary said was truth. His vision grew blurry. "When?" he finally choked out.

"A little before you were unfrozen."

"Th—" He couldn't finish the word. Instead, he nodded his head to thank her before turning around and heading out.

As he headed down the street, his face was hot no matter how cool the wind was. His head swam, the words refusing to sink in. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't be.

Suddenly, he jerked to the right and pulled into a gas station. After parking, he headed inside. The worker glanced up at him. He tried to say something to the worker, but he still couldn't talk. He just mouthed wordlessly and headed towards the bathroom.

He locked himself inside a stall and held his head in his hands. Oh, God, he knew that he would only be hurt. He knew that he had a very little chance that she would still be alive. He had been so lucky before; he hoped, just hoped that she could still be there.

But she couldn't. She was gone, and that was that.

His body shook as he sobbed. Hot tears pooled in his hands, dripping from them onto the ground. Stop crying, he told himself. For God's sake, you're Captain America! Stop crying!

He lifted his head up, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand.

* * *

The sky was cloudy as he pulled into the graveyard. Getting off his motorcycle, he searched through the tombstones, trying to find her name. After a few minutes, he found her name.

PEGGY BRANSON

1920-2010

He knelt down by the tombstone. "Hi, Peggy," he whispered. "I brought you flowers." He put the bouquet down on the grave. "I hoped they're not too damaged. I rode my motorcycle here. I love those motorcycles." He attempted a grin, but it disappeared after a second.

"I heard you got married, Peggy," he continued. "That's nice. I'm glad you did. You're a beautiful lady, you know that? You're wonderful in everyway imaginable." He blinked away some tears forming in his eyes. "I heard you had a daughter, but she's dead too. I wish I could've seen her. She must've been as lovely as you were. But you have grandkids and great-grandkids, so that's a good thing." He sighed, staying silent for a few moments before continuing.

Taking a shuddering breath, he started, "Peggy, I'm so sorry I missed our date. I had some… preoccupations." He thought over what he said. "No. No I didn't. Nothing in the world could've made me miss our date except a plane crash into the Atlantic Ocean." He tried to laugh, but turned into a sob. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down.

"I still don't know how to dance," he said. "I wish you could've taught me. You're probably a wonderful dancer." A couple of tears escaped from his eyes. "Oh, Peggy!" he exclaimed, and he cried freely, the ground underneath him growing damp. "I'm so sorry, Peggy. I would do anything to have that date, anything to change what happened. I'm so sorry. You were that one partner I waited for, Peggy. And now you're gone!"

He wept for a long while, trembling and occasionally apologizing to Peggy. After what seemed like an eternity, he stopped. Still sniffling, he said, "Peggy? You know what? I love you."

He bent over and kissed the headstone. "I'll be back soon," he murmured.

With that, he tore himself away from the grave, got on his motorcycle, and drove away from his lost love.

The whole world seemed to weep.


End file.
